


Encounters at Chronos' Maze

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Eagle and the Cross [27]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Amnesia, Chronos is the Greek God of Time, Diabulus in Musica, F/M, I really like this, Modern AU, art trade fic, this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am trapped in my own mind. I barely remember my son's face, let alone my life and my name. Yet the man I love is lost to me, forever consumed by the sea of time. I feel like I'm trapped in a maze and we are two ships in the night. [Art Trade. HayZiio]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encounters at Chronos' Maze

_I roam life after life, age after age, forever again… Our love in different shapes, life after life, age after age… There is something in your eyes… Recall, somewhere in time…_ _—_ _Diabulus in Musica_

* * *

 

_He stared at her, that heartbroken look in his eyes. "What do you mean you don't remember me? You have to remember me! We… we… we were in love! I… you left before we could get married! Please, tell me you remember me!" he asks… no begs. He always begs me, but I cannot recall his name, yet his face is vivid… so very vivid… and oddly familiar. "Please… what is my name?" he asks. I look into his eyes._

_"I don't know…" I breathe._

She wakes up at seven in the morning every day to watch the birds and the clinic's cat sits with her on the bed. She then braids her hair in two neat plates, and when she is done she turns and smiles at him. "Morning, Ista," Connor says, holding a tray of covered food. He brings it from home every day, since she always complains about how the clinic's food tastes horrid.

"You didn't have to come Jim," she says, a smile on her wrinkly old face. "But thank you for doing so."

Connor sighs, he hates it when his mother doesn't remember him, but as the doctors explained it, her mind is like Swiss cheese, so full of holes and her memories are lost to her forever. The nurses encouraged him to go along with the fantasies his mother believes herself to be in, since it'll help her, but she is gone. Trapped forever in her own mind. "I had to," Connor says, walking up to his mother. "I hated seeing you so sad."

"I'm not sad, Jim!" Ziio snaps, a pout tugging at her lips. "Why do you think I'm sad?"

"I see it in your eyes, you miss him," Connor explains. "Don't you? Your son's father."

"Son? I don't have a son, Jim!" Ziio says, scooting away from Connor. "I don't know what you're talking about! I'm not sad, I'm…" she stops, a wild look in her eyes as she stares at Connor. "Ratonhnhaké:ton?" she asks, suddenly lucid.

"Ista," he whispers, a hopeful smile curving his lips. "Good morning."

"Morning? It's already morning… oh my." Ziio touches her lips, staring out the window. "How's Aveline? The kids?"

"She's good. She came back from Paris three days ago," Connor says. "She's going back in August. Edwin is coming back for summer vacation, and Zéphyrine can't wait to graduate. She's accepted into Harvard."

"August," Ziio says. "I've always loved August."

"I know, you've told me."

"I was going to get married in August," Ziio says, looking wistfully out the window. The cat chattered as a bold little bird hopped to close to the window; its whiskers and ears forward and tail tip twitching. It shuffled on its forepaws, eyes glued to the bird.

Connor sets the tray down on the table near his mother's bed, and sits next to her. He takes her gnarled liver-spotted hand in both of hiss. "Ista, I know… I know I've never really asked you much about my father, but… I would like it if he was at my wedding. I know you two had your reasons for parting… but… the sins of the mother are not the sins of the son. The last time I saw him I was three. Please Ista, tell me where is Haytham Kenway."

_"Remember when Connor was two," the man says, a whimsical smile on his face. "He wandered too near the pond and fell in. I thought my heart would stop and before I could react you were already in the water, pulling him out. He was terribly shook up."_

_"He was," I agree. I remember that. It was one of the few memories the worms had yet to devour. I had been so afraid I'd lose my son; I didn't even think about anything else other than getting to him before he drowned. "He…" I can't remember any more if he learned to swim or not. I try to, desperately. This man is expecting to hear if my son learned to swim or not, because… why would he care I cannot remember._

_"You don't remember do you?" the man asks, a sad look in his eyes. "It feels like a life time doesn't it?" he looks around at the metaphysical cave we're in, watching the ever encroaching ocean and the fog of forgetfulness that is on the distant horizon. Within the fog is where the memory-worms live, and they devour a little bit of my memories each day. Soon, this man will be gone. I've already lost his name, yet I continue to feel this tug on me… as if he is extremely important._

_"I wish I could remember," I whisper. I can't look into his eyes. "I truly do."_

_He takes my hand and kisses it. "I know," he whispers. "And I believe you will. Please, you must remember at least my name."_

_"No… it feels like a lifetime since I recalled it."_

Connor didn't expect his mother to remember the name of his father. She proved as much when she stared at him blankly for several minutes and started calling him by her father's name. He stayed, helping her eat, before taking the tray of half-eaten food away, telling the nurse he'll be back tomorrow. He grabbed one of his daughter's books on law, flipped to the back and found the image of the author. He entered the author's website into his computer the next day.

The man is retired. He was once a lawyer. He wrote several books on law and philosophy of law.

He has dual citizenship with both the United Kingdom and the United States.

He currently lives in Queen Anne's Square, London.

"Whatcha doing?" Aveline asks, causing Connor to jump. She giggles and pecks his lips. "London, eh? Who or what is in London?"

"My father," Connor grumbles, closing the window. "When did you get back?"

"Few minutes ago, and your father? Did your mother finally remember him?" Aveline asks, pulling Connor's chair away from the desk. She plops herself neatly into his lap.

"No… I… Zéphyrine wants him at her graduation," Connor whispers, resting his head on her shoulder. "I hate visiting my mother… seeing her like this. She was so… vibrant. So full of passion and life and now… she's just a husk."

"Shh," Aveline coos, running her fingers through his hair. "I know it's hard, but you must… she needs you now, Connor."

"C-Can you and Zéffie visit her?" Connor whispers, looking up into his wife's green eyes. "Please?"

"You're going to London." Aveline says, staring at him.

"I have to," Connor protests. "He's my father and—"

"Walked out on you and your mother when you were three!" Aveline points out. Connor huffs, looking away. "Or have you forgotten?"

He never forgot that day. Most kids remember their parents screaming, shouting, threatening to kill one another. Not him. He remembers his mother snarling in her rage and his father says _very well_. His father spotted him on the stares and told him to go to bed, putting a hand on his head in a loving gesture before continuing to climb the stairs and into his bedroom. Connor remembers the sad smile on his father's face. The next day his father was gone. "You know I haven't," Connor mutters. "But I have to find him! Please! I think… I think my mother regrets what happened between them."

Aveline heaves a great sigh, cups his face and kisses him sensual. "Oh, _mon pauvre amour_ , _mon coeur pleure pour vous_." She kisses him again, shorter this time, "of course you can go. I won't stop you. Zéffie and I will check in on your mother," Aveline whispers and rests her head on his shoulder. "Just promise me, Connor… don't let your parents' burdens destroy you."

"I…" he licks his lips, "I'll try not."

_I don't remember what he's talking about, but I know he's talking about something. "You know… I always knew you didn't do anything wrong," he whispers. I tilt my head, curious. "That day… with you and William. I knew he kissed you… and that you were frozen in well, shock."_

_"I…" I stop. I don't really remember this. It's a half-remembered mostly forgotten memory. William… I remember him being a mutual friend with my companion. William spoke Mohawk, like I do. He did something… something that my body remembers but my mind does not._

_"We should've gone to couple's therapy," the man says, his slate colored eyes sad. "Maybe things would've been different."_

_Different… I wonder if that would have been true. Maybe we were destined to be apart forever. I run my hand through my hair. "Maybe," I say, not really understanding why. The man takes my hand and once again, my body remembers this touch. Callused hands from years wielding a sword, he mentioned he wanted to go to the Olympics for fencing; yet those hands were so gentle. The gentlest hands that had ever held me. He leans in close, his lips brushing my cheek._

_He whispers into my ear, "Why Ziio? Why don't you remember me?"_

Connor gets off the plane in London. He scans the crowd, looking for an obnoxious looking man-child. He spots Jacob Frye amongst the crowd, holding a sign that says _Welcome to London Ray-doon-hay-gay-doon!_ Connor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Really Jacob, really?" Connor asks. "I've told you how to spell my first name before."

"Connor!" Jacob cries, a broad smile spreading across his face. Connor embraces his friend. "It's lovely to see you again. Been years, since college."

"Yeah. At least in the flesh. I'm always kicking your ass on Duty's Call," Connor points out. Jacob chuckles.

"So, what brings you to merry ol' London?" Jacob asks, as he hefts Connor's bag. "I doubt you came to see me."

"Unfortunately," Connor sighs, "how's your sister?"

"Of traipsing the rainforests of India with Greenie, looking for rare and exotic plants. Da's bloody proud of her though," Jacob says with a little shrug, "then again, Da always had a thing for plants."

"Well good for her," Connor says, as they get into Jacob's beat up looking red car. "I'll never get use to the passenger side being on the wrong side of the car."

" _Wrong side_? Whatcha talkin' about mate? You Yanks have the door on the passenger side on the bloody wrong side," Jacob snorts, getting into his car and starting the engine. "So, we're going back to my flat?"

"Actually, I'd like to stop by this address first."

"Queen Anne's Square," Jacob mutters, arching a brow. "Who do you know that bloody lives there?"

"My father."

_I struggle to recall his name. I have forgotten most of the names of the men in my life. Save for a few that have truly impacted me. This man, the shade that is always with me, telling me of memories that I should be looking back on fondly… his name I cannot remember. He is with my today, he is always with me, but whenever he speaks all I hear is static. He must be telling memories that I know longer remember._

_I wonder through this maze, looking at the remaining memories. The birth of my son, his fifth birthday. His first date. When he brought his girlfriend Aveline over. My mother and my siblings, my father. Memories of my husband should be there, but I have no husband. There was a man. The father of my son, but his name I cannot recall. "Ziio," the shade says. I turn to stare at him. Each passing day he grows darker and darker. I want to rage, to scream, to weep in frustration that I cannot remember his name. "Time's running out Ziio. You must remember, surely you must remember."_

_"I can't! I can't! I can't! No matter how hard I try I can't remember who you are!"_

_"Then try… please hurry," the shade breathes, looking over his shoulder. The memory-worms are devouring yet another part of my mind. This maze of forgotten memories is growing weaker and weaker and with each passing day I will lose myself in the confines of my very mind. I look at the shade, fear in my eyes._

_"Please… help me… I'm scared," I whisper. My shade holds me tight and once more I have the vague sense that I know him._

"Whoa," Jacob mutters, staring at the house. "Your family's wealthy. Your great-granddaddy a baronet or somethin'?"

Connor snorts. "Hardly. Grandfather was a savvy businessman, he climbed his way to the top."

"I thought you said your mum never speaks of your dad?"

"She doesn't," Connor replies as he climbs the stairs. "Google can be surprisingly helpful in tracking down information on my father's family. Plus, he wrote several books and my daughter owns almost all of them." Connor knocks on the fine oak door. There is no answer. "So, what have you been up to Jacob?"

"Building engineering marvels for the Queen," Jacob says with a grin. "Makes good pay though the hours are hell, but money is money, so I can't complain."

Connor nods and knocks again. A flicker of movement in one of the windows catches his eyes, he thought he saw an elderly man peer at him from the curtains but he couldn't be sure. "Any one special?"

"Nope," Jacob says, "I'm enjoying the life of a bachelor."

"Really not even a guy? I mean you kissed me—OW!" Connor yelps as Jacob steps on his foot. "Jacob!"

"I told you," Jacob hisses, "never to mention that _incident_." Connor glares at is friend, Jacob huffs and looks away. "Maxwell Roth, okay, and that's all I'm going to say." He doesn't look Connor in the eye but Connor notices the tint of pink in Jacob's cheeks. Connor knocks again and this time a bent old woman peers out at him.

Her face isn't saggy with wrinkles, though she has deep crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and the edges of her mouth. Eyes blue as the sky that hold the sharpness of her wit behind them. Her hair, once a brilliant golden blond, now moon silver, is pulled back into a tight headmistress's bun. She wears a plain dress, and the pommel of her cane is shaped like an eagle. "What do you want?" she hisses. "My brother and I don't abide by hooligans knocking on our door and leaving bags of burning shit on our doorstep! Also, we aren't interested in anything you're selling."

"Uhm… hello, ma'am," Connor says, regaining his composure, "I'm Connor Kenway… Haytham Kenway's son. Does… Does he still live here?"

The woman reacts as if she had seen a ghost, her old blue eyes growing wide as she stares at Connor, before turning her head into the house and bellowing like a sailor. "Haytham! Haytham, get down here! Some lout here claims to be your son! _Haytham!_ " the woman looks at Jacob. "And who are you? This chap's bugger?"

Jacob and Connor flush. " _No!_ "

"Seriously, what the hell, lady," Jacob grumbles, while Connor mutters, "I'm married…"

"Pish-posh, that never stopped anyone from bonkin' if they wanted to," the woman says. "Haytham! Hurry up and get down here otherwise I'm going to invite them in! I'm tired of standing in this bloody doorway!"

"Good grief Jenny, just send them on their way!" a man's voice says, and the owner of the voice soon appears. Connor stare at the man with iron grey hair and slate colored eyes. He has a scar on his chin and one on his cheek and by his brow, yet he's still handsome, in the same fashion of perfectly aged wine.

"About time you showed up and be a proper host, brother mine," the woman, Jenny chides. Haytham tugs indignantly at his sweater vest. "Ta-ta you two," Jenny says, and shuffles off into the house.

"Now," Haytham looks at the two young men on his doorstep. "What can I possible do for you?"

"Hello, are you Mr. Haytham Kenway?" Connor asks.

"That depends on who you are," the man says. Connor frowns.

"I'm Ratonhnhaké:ton Connor Kenway," Connor says, "your son." The man visibly freezes, staring at Connor before hastily closing the door.

"I'm sorry but you got the wrong address. I'm Kenneth Conway," Haytham stammers, trying to close the door, but Connor shoves his foot in between the door and frame.

"That woman, Jenny, called you Haytham. My father's name is Haytham, he lives on this address and— Jacob! Let go of me!"

"Sorry to bother you," Jacob says, putting on his most suave smile, "but my mate here's an American. You know how they are."

"Right," Haytham mutters tersely, his door closing with a soft click. Connor pulls away and looks at Jacob.

"Why did you do that? I could have gotten him to acknowledge me as his son!" Connor seethes.

"He'd've called the cops on us," Jacob points out, "c'mon, let's get back to my flat and we can grab a bite to eat."

* * *

 

Connor doesn't return to his father's house for a few days, instead taking this time to tour London with Jacob, who may or may not be the best tour guide. Connor returns the four day, and is surprised when Haytham answers the door. "I thought you would've left by now."

"I'm tenacious," Connor replies, a smirk quirking upon his lips. "My mother says I get that from."

"Bollocks," Haytham snorts, "you get that from her side of the family." Connor chuckles as his father sighs. "Well, what do you want?" Haytham asks. He frowns when Connor hands him a picture.

"I was three when that was taken," Connor explains, watching his father's reaction. Haytham covers his mouth with a hand. "We went to Disney World. Three months before you left me and my mother. I still remember how you looked at me, with such sadness."

"Son…" Haytham sighs, handing the picture back to Connor. "I knew it was you the first day."

"Then why did you… try to avoid talking to me?" Connor asks, tucking the picture back into his wallet. Haytham steals a glance, noticing a family photo, he recognizes his son, but not the other people.

"Would you… take a walk with an old man?" Haytham asks. Connor glances at his watch before nodding. "Good, I'll fetch my coat."

They walk a few blocks to a nearby church and entire the graveyard the building stands sentinel over. Connor follows his father, watching him as Haytham leads the way through the graveyard. His father's hands have become gnarled and knobby like his mother's, blue veins bulging beneath paper-thin flesh. Connor stops besides his father, when Haytham stops at a tombstone. Connor sees it, reading the name of his grandfather, the dates of birth and death and the heartfelt inscription below the dates. "Edward James Kenway," Haytham whispers, "loving father and husband. Fair winds and following seas."

"When did he die?" Connor asks.

"Ten years after I moved back to London," Haytham sighs, "he wanted to see you again. I thought… I thought about calling your mother and asking… if you and her could… come out but…"

"Why didn't you?" Connor presses. "I never met him."

"You did," Haytham says, "once. We came back for Christmas and New Year's when you were two. Actually, we came for my birthday as well, but that's neither here nor there. My parents adored you."

"I don't remember…" Connor breathes.

"I don't expect you too," Haytham sighs. "So, the woman, the boy and the girl? Who are they?"

"The woman is my wife, Aveline," Connor says, "she's CEO of De Grandpré Enterprise. The boy is my son, Edwin. He's going to college now, up in New York and the girl is my daughter, Zéphyrine, she's graduating high school in June."

"I have grandchildren… a daughter-in-law?" Haytham whispers. Connor nods. "Why didn't I hear about this?"

"I wrote a letter to you, before I got married. I couldn't exactly fly to London to look for you. I didn't have my own veterinary practice yet and Aveline wasn't CEO. You never got the letter, at least I assumed you didn't. I got a generic thank you from your publisher."

"Damn him, I told Charles I want to read my fan mail. It's not like I get mountains of it like Rowling," Haytham mutters. "Tell me about them."

"Aveline is sharp as a whip, as a good sense of humor and a strong sense of justice. She's a loving mother and wife. She's my best friend. We had to do a project together for some sociology class we both needed for our degrees. She's half black and half white."

"And my grandchildren?" Haytham presses.

"Edwin is sharp. He loves his sister, but he's very black and white, has a quick temper. He's going to school for criminal psychology. Wants to be a profiler for the FBI." Connor sighs, thinking of his son. "Zéphyrine… she admires you. I told her about you and she did an internet search for you, and started reading your books. Since then she's wanted to be a lawyer. Brilliant, girl. She's graduating with top honors, and did a running start program and already has her AA."

"Amazing… a woman after my own heart and she happens to be my granddaughter," Haytham chuckles. "You must be extremely proud."

"I am."

"And you? What have you been doing?"

"Living. I was a vet," Connor says, "I had to uuh… quit when my mother got sick. I'll reopen my practice once… do you know why I'm here?"

"Not really," Haytham admits.

"My mother has Alzheimer's; the doctors say she's rapidly getting worse. I would like her to see you before she loses what shreds of sanity she has left," Connor sighs, "she doesn't remember you."

"So… she doesn't remember why I left?" Haytham asks.

"If that's all you're worried about then forget it!" Connor snaps. "My mother is dying and all you can think about is yourself. You really are a selfish bastard." Connor turns away, he manages to get several feet away before Haytham calls out.

"You're right." Connor stops, turning to stare at the old man, clutching his dead father's tombstone. "You're right, son. I am selfish. I've been selfish for far too long. My pride and… my shame have prevented me from contacting your mother… prevented me from repairing our relationship. I knew… it wasn't her fault. William was the one that kissed her, she was frozen with shock," Haytham sighs, rubbing at his eyes. Connor belatedly realizes that his father is crying. "In my outrage I… I refused to listen to her side. I tore our family apart and it's been broken far too long." Haytham holds Connor's gaze. "I don't ask for your forgiveness, because I don't expect it, but I will say this: I'm sorry Connor, that you are the son of a coward."

_The waters of this ocean laps at my feet. I stare at it, my reflection slowly fading. Bit by bit I lose myself to the ravenous maws of this sickness. The memory-worms are ruthless in their quest to devour my memories. My shade is nearly gone now, a transparent grey, and his voice is soft and distant. "Please, Ziio… you must remember me!" he begs, he can no longer hold me and I rage at the injustice of it all. I should know who he is, remember all those things associated with him._

_I am unable to. It feels like a life time ago since I recalled his name. "I told you, I don't remember! I can't remember! The memory is gone!"_

_"If the memory of me is gone, then I would've vanished long ago," the shade replies. "I am still here, but they are eating me. Slowly and you know it. You can see it, please Ziio, who am I? What is my name, I know you know."_

_"I don't, I… it hurts," I sob, wanting to hold him, wanting to feel his strong arms around me. "My heart hurts because of this. Why can't I remember your face? Why can't I even remember your name?"_

_"What is your name?" my shade asks; I stare at him._

_"Zii_ _—"_

_"Your real name. The name your mother gave you," my shade hisses, angry. He grabs my shoulders and I feel him again._

_"Kaneihtí:io," I say, I'll always remember my name. The memory-worms will not devour my name. I won't allow them to strip me fully of my humanity! "My name is Kaneihtí:io."_

_"Godz-ziio," my shade says. He's becoming solid again, and darkening from that sickening translucent grey, so black. I frown at him._

_"No, it's Kaneihtí:io," I repeat. He's darkening, the black taking on colors of the man he once was, the man that's still trapped… nameless… deep within my memories._

_"Gots-ziio," he repeats and I shake my head, as his face becomes more define._

_"Ziio," I say, since he is hopeless when it comes to my people's tongue._

_"Diio," he says, a quirk to his lips. I know he's doing that on purpose now. He knows how to say my nickname._

_"Ziio…"_

"…Haytham," Ziio whispers, see the man before her. A tearful smile spreads across her face. "Haytham is that you?"

"Yes, Ziio, it's me," Haytham whispers, his voice choked by tears. He rubs at his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ziio. I'm truly sorry."

"For what?" Ziio asks, cupping Haytham's face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. Haytham freezes, shocked that Ziio wouldn't recall why he left in the first place.

"She probably doesn't remember, Father," Connor explains softly. "Just go with it. Indulge her."

Haytham nods once and licks his lips. "For not telling you… how much you mean to me."

"Oh that's okay," Ziio says, her voice soft and light, but her grin genuine. "I always knew you loved me, in your own way."

Haytham smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft 
> 
> Art trade with qyguex on tumblr! They requested Ziio suffering from amnesia. Thus, this fic. Thanks for MohawkWoman for pointing out the age issues.  
> The stuff in italics is Ziio. She's in a metaphysical representation of her psyche. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it. Yes, Jacob's here.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review. ^o^


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